


Afternoon Delight

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for prompt: "Mystrade, desk sex and dirty talk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon Delight

Mycroft had barely opened the door before he found himself pushed against the wall, Greg plastered against him and kissing him sloppily.

“Your secretary,” Greg gasped between kisses. “Is she – ”

“She knows to be discrete.”

“Good.”

Mycroft pushed Greg backwards. They were like  _teenagers_ , for god’s sake, unable to keep their hands off each other for even a second. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so –

Well.  _Fun_ , really.

Greg pushed Mycroft against the desk, the back of his thighs hitting the wood.

“Do you know how – how bloody distracted I’ve been the last few days?” he said, sounding a little frantic. “Nothing important on, just paperwork, and every five sodding minutes my concentration went and I – ”

“You what?” Mycroft asked, smiling.

“I think of  _you_. Bent over your stupid desk, or tearing off your suit, or when you – you know, last week, when you…”

“Entertaining thoughts, I should think.”

“Yeah?” Greg pulled back and gave him a slightly wild-eyed look. “Try writing reports with a raging hard-on.”

“I have, as a matter of fact,” Mycroft said calmly.

Greg blinked, mouth hanging open. “You – you  _bastard_.”

“For fantasising during work hours? But you just told me you do the same, so – _ah_.”

Greg had worked his hand inside Mycroft’s trousers, his palm warm against him.

“Yeah?” Greg asked, with an especially filthy grin. He licked his lips and leaned his head backwards a little, eyes half-closed. It made him look very appealing.

“Yes,” Mycroft gasped.

“Good.” Greg leaned in closer, on hand resting flat on the desk and the other still squeezing Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft leaned back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was creasing the papers that were lying on his desk, disturbing his carefully organised piles, leaving behind smears of sweaty hands on the shiny polished surface, and –

And he did not care. He cared for nothing but Greg’s hand, slowly pumping up and down. And then his mouth against Mycroft’s throat, warm and wet. Greg’s free hand pulled at his collar and tie, bearing his neck and shoulder, kissing lower.

Greg bit down. Mycroft’s hand flew up to take Greg’s neck, squeezing hard. He _needed_ something to hold on to.

“God,” Greg muttered. “Look at you. So prim and proper in your suit and your tie and your neat office, all excited ‘cos of a handjob like teenager behind the bike shed…”

“Greg,” he gasped, fingers tightening in the short hair at Greg’s nape.

Greg’s hand sped up, delicious friction. Mycroft tipped his head backwards. The room was soundproof, but still he bit his lip to keep quiet when he could feel his orgasm approach, his balls drawing tight. Old habits die hard, it seemed.

Greg pulled him into another heated kiss, his tongue sliding wetly against his, and his hand was still moving, and Mycroft tipped over the edge, biting down on Greg’s lip.

Greg pulled his hand back. Mycroft leaned back on the desk, his breathing slowing down, eyes on the ceiling.

“Oh, fuck, sorry.”

“Hm?” Mycroft asked, still floating on the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Your, erm, your trousers. You haven’t got an important meeting anytime soon, have you?”

Mycroft blinked and looked down. There was an obvious wet patch on his crotch. “Not to worry, I keep at least one extra suit here.”

“Ah. Well, good.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “Very, er, practical of you.”

“Learned from experience.” Which got him a sharp look from Greg – he wasn’t a complete idiot, this particular goldfish – but he ignored it and smiled. “Now, I believe you said something about my mouth.”

“I, er, did, but you don’t have to if you’re not – ”

“Don’t be absurd.” Mycroft went to his knees and unzipped Greg’s trousers. “This is hardly a chore for me, you know.”

“Well, if you’re sure –  _god_.”

Mycroft looked up from beneath his eyelashes, Greg's cock warm and heavy on his tongue. Greg was leaning back on the desk, his right hand supporting him, creasing the documents further – the very hand, in fact, that only moments ago had been inside Mycroft’s underwear.

Well, he could always print it out again, or let Andrea photocopy it. No need to hand the PM semen-smeared documents.

Greg’s other hand was on the back of his head. Not forcing him, or pulling at his hair, Greg was far too gentle a man to do anything like that. Just carefully holding him, following each movement of his head.

“God,” Greg gasped. “How are you so – so fucking  _good_ at this? It shouldn’t, you, - oh _fuck_.” He groaned again, loudly. “God, don’t stop.”

Mycroft smiled around Greg’s cock. He would have never have guessed Greg to be the talkative type during sex, but here they were. Greg almost always kept up a constant stream of chatter, gradually getting less and less cohesive. It was a handy little marker: by the time Greg had reached the stage of meaningless vowel sounds he was quite close to coming.

Which was now, in fact. He glanced up again. Greg had closed his eyes and was leaning back, mouth hanging open, looking almost like he was in pain. It was a charming sight, and one he intended to cherish.

It was moments like these that kept him going during long boring meetings – although they did occasionally have a slightly awkward side-effect.

“Mycroft,” Greg said, panting. “I’m – ”

He felt the urge to smile again. Greg had a strange sense of coutesy, as if coming without announcing it first would be impolite.

As if Mycroft couldn’t tell exactly when Greg was going to come.

He swallowed around Greg's cock, pulled back again, and sucked, hard, the one final push needed to send him over the edge. Greg’s fingers twitched against his neck and he could hear the sound of paper being crumpled. Ah, well, all for a good cause.

Once Greg was finished he pulled back and swallowed. Greg was watching him with large, dark eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“I’m never over that, you know,” Greg said, breathless. “How you… you just…” He waved an arm. “You know.”

“Yes, I know.” He got up and gave his documents a cursory look. Beyond recovery, unfortunately, stained with sweat from Greg’s palm, and other things, as well as creased all over.

“Oh,” Greg said, a little awkwardly. “Er, sorry about that. Again.”

“No matter. If I didn’t want to deal with collateral damage I shouldn’t have invited you in here. So…” He straightened his suit. “You have a meeting in thirty minutes, in current traffic you’ll make it just in time.”

“ _How_ did you – oh, never mind.”

Mycroft handed him his handkerchiefs. Greg cleaned his hands with it, head held to one side.

“Something the matter?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No. It’s just… You look a lot less tense now.” He grinned. “Suppose I could say I’m shagging you for the good of the country, eh?”

Mycroft gave him a smile back. “Making sure government officials don’t have to deal with me in a bad mood? Quite. Although the reverse is true as well, of course.”

“Yeah, I think Donovan’s starting to suspect something.” He handed Mycroft his handkerchief back and started straightening his clothes. “She’d asked who the lucky girl was, and if she could send her a fruit basket for making me so cheerful all the time.”

“And what did you say?” Mycroft asked, smiling.

“Told her not to be daft. Anyway.” Greg gave him a look. “Next time?”

“Naturally.”

“Good.” Greg took Mycroft’s neck and planted a kiss on his lips. “See ya.”

He went out, whistling softly. Mycroft watched him go with a fond smile.


End file.
